Hurricanes
by YourNewFriend
Summary: Mercedes and Sam have been together for years, and now they are married, happily so. She's been 106 pounds lighter from her weight of 228 since Junior year of high school, and he is a very successful businessman. They have 3 children together. Would life have gone so perfect if Sam hadn't been obsessed with her, IS life perfect? A hurricane helps her find out. Rated M for a reason!


**Hurricanes**

Mercedes and Sam have been together for years, and now they are married, happily so. She's been 106 pounds lighter from her weight of 228 since Junior year of high school, and he is a very successful businessman. They have 3 children together. Would life have gone so perfect if Sam hadn't been obsessed with her, IS life perfect? A hurricane helps her find out.

**A/N: Hey guys! This is my first Glee FanFic, so I hope you really like it! :) Feel free to comment on what you think! **

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS AN EXPLICIT SEX SCENE. **

_Mercedes Evans_

I know Sam is obsessed with me, and I know there are wives out there that would never, ever be 'okay' with knowing this. Hell, there are women in my pearly neighborhood of Green Gates that would either take lucrative advantage of his obsession and run him dry like a well, or run for the hills, preferably Beverly Hills, several cities over in California.

I'm careful about this. I have to be since there are children involved, and I do love him, I'm just careful. I never let his easy-going, clear hazel eyes fool me into believing he trusts me without monitoring, or that his smooth, long, lazy smile suggests that in a heartbeat he won't fight to make me stay. I've experienced that first hand, trapped in the closet for hours like it was some bad R Kelly jam, praying he would get tired and fall asleep first so I could sneak out, and come back for my things later, but not once all night did he lose vigilance, and when I decided to make a run for it anyway, he tackled me to the ground and held me there until I swore to every saint in the books that I wouldn't try and leave him.

Even the question: "are you bored?" asked mildly still sends chills up and down my spine. _Are you bored? Are you bored with me? Bored enough to leave me? You aren't going to leave me, Mercedes, you swore forever. I want every year, every minute._

He's breathing harder than usual, so hard I might actually let myself believe he's become a heavy sleeper overnight and I won't have to wake him up just for a trip to the bathroom. However, I don't chance it. I nudge him, gingerly at first, testing his level of sleep, then again and his eyes pop open almost immediately. He turns over, then remembers me and turns back to me, settling his eyes as he yawned, "yes?" Before I can answer, he does for me, "bathroom. Okay."

He gets up, though the time reads that it's _3:04 am_ and he had a whole day of driving ahead for our road trip. I wish desperately it was the start of our four years of marriage and I could tell with sass that I was fine and he could stay right where he was because I all I needed to do was pee, but that stopped working after the second year.

I find my slippers, and get up, naked beneath one of his dress shirts, half unbuttoned and one button jumped, making the right side longer than the left. He opens the door for me, and turns on the bright yellow-white light, and watches me, his hazel eyes hazy, but definitively alert to my movements.

The toilet is cold, and my eyes hurt as I shiver as I lower myself onto it, before deciding to just hover, doing my best to ignore him so I can pee. If my pee takes too long to start, I know he'll get suspicious, so I push harder than I look like I am, and luckily, a strong flow begins to start.

He wipes at his eye with his bare wrist, his Ralph Lauren polo grey wool pajamas sit at the base of his muscular v-indented hips, and he starts to mumble, "you know, I had a dream..."

The words make me freeze, and I have to remind myself subconsciously to keep peeing. I nearly begin to whisper under my breath: _please, don't let it have been about me cheating on you, again._ I've never once cheated on this man, but he swears he has the most vivid dreams about me cheating on him, and I believe it, because of the times he's woken up in a rage, demanding to know this motherfucker's name or that who that asshole thinks he is, and it's costs us plenty of flung things off of our night stand, mostly mine, and I by the time I can calm myself to sleep, or pretend to sleep through him, it's replaced by morning time or paid for.

"Oh?" I offer, trying to sound as guilt-less as possible, though I know I haven't done anything, panic still flutters through my heart.

"Yeah, we had another kid," he laughs, and I don't find it funny. Neither does my vagina.

"Good thing it's a dream," I mumble as I wipe myself, "we're waiting a few more years, at least, before the next one."

"Of course," he smiled at me, "it's your body, after all."

_I'm glad you realize that._ I say sourly in my mind. "Yeah."

I wash my hands at the double vanity farthest from him, and take my time, dreading having to pass him and get back in bed. He's patient, and continues to talk. "The Rocky Mountains," he sighs, "should be beautiful, even though the Grand Canyon's closer, right in Arizona, but we can see that on our way back. This should be fun," he told me as I moved past him, but not too quickly, wishing I could just dive for the bedroom door, snatch up all our kids, and run to the car and not come back. It's a powerful urge, but I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't get far.

"What with Tina, Mike and their kid coming along, and Quinn's new boyfriend, whatever his name is," he went on as I got in bed, laying at the edge of the King-sized mattress, "this should be fun, right?"

He's doing this for me, and I know so. He's only orchestrated this because I kept complaining about not being around enough people I know, (to which he argued he was enough people I needed to know and the kids were made that more than enough), and so here were more people. People in relationships, people he could trust, people we both know.

"Right," I nod back, and yawn harder than I actually need to. I want to run, not because I hate him, but because I want my freedom back. I've argued so many times how much this felt like slavery only for him to be upset that I even thought of it like that instead of love. I am so close to not wanting this anymore, so close I dare to write about it, absentmindedly, everywhere. On grocery lists, on Netflix queues, Magazines...

I had to destroy the evidence right after, and that's if I catch it. My heart pounds every time he picks up something and looks too closely at it. I'm scared he might find some of my words sprawled listlessly across it. It hasn't happened yet, and if it does I already made the decision to lie that it's just a movie title called 'Run Away'. He might nail the doors if he saw my poetry journal.

"You don't sound that enthusiastic about this." He says to my back, reaching for me and upon his touch I tumble myself out of the bed and stand up, wanting to scream for him not to do that, but I don't scream. I just stand there and look at him in the dark, the glow from the baby monitor the only source of light.

He sits up, running a hand through his messy, wavy blond-brown hair. "What is it Mercedes?" He sounds exhausted, nearly annoyed with me. _What is it now?_ His eyes ask me, _what haven't I provided?_

I swallow. When I step for the door, he gets off the bed. I tell him. "Just, just stay right there. I'm just going to go check on Jaden. I forgot to change his ventilator," my favorite excuse because it lets me catch fresh air at the same time on the way. I have to add, "I'll be right back."

He stands there, "okay."

I know from the moment I step out, I'm being timed. Two minutes, tops, before I would feel his eyes on me and it sickens me. I didn't sign up for this. Even worse, if I try to sell the idea back to him about how much he would like being watched all the time, he really _would_ like it.

I walk, slowly, to Jaden's room.

I want to make a detour down the stairs and race out of the door, and gasp for the cold night air, shoving it down my lungs, but I know better. He'd chase me and we'd wake up the kids fighting. I can't believe I let us have kids. Goodness knows if I even wake up before him and go downstairs to make some breakfast, he'd come looking for me, needing to physically see me, and then, 'casually', my phone, which is set to send him every text I send, no matter who it's to. I once texted my Mom 'I love how sexy you've gotten' from a picture she sent me from her Weight-Loss program, and he came home early from work, and nearly broke my phone trying to see who I sent that to, scaring the life out of me.

I open Jaden's door carefully, his golden brown curls splashed onto the pillow, his body still, except for the motion of breathing. I go over and press my ear close, glad he's okay, and I begin to go over to his ventilator, noting that it was running just fine, but disassembling it all the same.

One particular side is stubborn to go back down, and it eats up a whole minute as I just move the whole thing onto my lap, trying to fix it, when I hear his footsteps on the carpet and swear beneath my breath, trying to push it down as far as it could go, only for it to spring back up at me like a Jack in the Box. "Go down, go down, go down," I whisper frantically, and nearly explode with frustration.

"Merce?" He says quietly.

"Give me a minute," I mutter aggressively, upset I can't even have two damn minutes to myself. Two damn minutes! I try shoving it down again, and he watches me, which only infuriates me more.

"That doesn't go that way-"

"I said, give me a minute," I growl up at him, and he's stunned, but shrugs. "I'm only fixing this thing, you don't have to watch me."

"You can fix it by turning it around," he says, and I feel like chucking it at his head.

I twist it and it plops down easy with a hiss of humid air. I get up, and walk out, deliberately taking the stairs down.

"Where are you-"

"No where," I bite at him, my eyes flashing anger, daring him to question me. I can't believe I'm living like this, so far beneath his thumb that I can't see nothing else. "Don't ask me. I swear, you ask me that question about a hundred times a day, it's fucking annoying."

He comes down the spiral, warm-rugged stairs with me and I go near the kitchen, briefly thinking of arming myself with a pan and demanding he let me leave him for a day or two, but that'll prove as useless as when I tried driving out of the city back when Jaden was at my sister's place for the weekend. He put a damn tracker in my car and the guy at the gas station looked at me like I was a fugitive runner when he rang up my car ID. Stupid new gas laws. He held me until Sam came and got me, because the car was in his name. I had to give him this long story made-up story and memorize it, because he slipped in questions about it for weeks. "I can't stand this!" I hiss quietly.

He hears me, "why are you so upset?"

"Because I can't do nothing all the time!" I scream, louder than I mean to with the twins sleeping upstairs. I can't help it, I want to punch him in his throat.

"What do you need to do?" His voice is so calm, and tired, that it makes me sound crazy.

"You're always there!" I tell him. "And even when you're not there, you are! Somehow you are always-_always_-"

"Why do you need me to be away?" He asks, pulling up the kitchen chair and looking at me like he's my damn therapist.

"I don't know, because I need alone time sometimes? Because I can't breathe when it's like this," I tell him, fanning myself because I'm getting hot.

"So, you want me to be away? So you can do...what, exactly?" He folded his arms, knitting his eyebrows together in slight confusion, not understanding.

I throw my hands up. "Nothing! I want to be able to do nothing and feel like I have the freedom to do nothing with nobody watching. It's not like I'm going to become a criminal or run around town on some crazy shit. I want to walk around in my underwear with a bowl of cereal wearing a damn crown and watch reality TV all day without being checked up on like I'm someone's kid who's always getting into trouble and doing things they aren't supposed to be doing." I explain to him, not unlike I've explained before.

"You're always welcome to walk around eating cereal in your underwear, and you watch crappy reality shows anyway, so I don't see why you want to get rid of me, unless you want someone else-"

"Stop. Stop right there, don't go there, Sam," I say, clutching my head at the mindfuckery of it all. "Stop going there. You keep saying it like I'm-"

"Speaking exactly what you subconsciously want?" He says, as if that's what I was going to say.

"No, stop, because if I wanted someone else, I would have chose someone else. I chose you. I gave up everything for you, I'm not leaving."

"Good, then stay." He says, uncrossing his arms and getting up. He kisses me. "Let's go to bed."

"I don't want to go to bed, I'm going to stay up," I say, looking right into his eyes firmly. In response, he pinches the upper bridge of his nose, and then rubs his whole face sighing.

"You're going to do this tonight? Tonight?" He walks in a circle, frustrated. "I have to drive tomorrow, all day."

"You don't have to stay up with me," I remind him. "It's not like I'm helplessly stupid at making myself a midnight snack and watching an episode, or two, of _Friends_ on my own."

He lies. "I don't mind staying up with you."

If this was the second year of our marriage, I'd tell him again he doesn't have to and he'd go back upstairs and fight himself not to seem needy and come back downstairs, but this is year four, by far the hardest year. He's tactful.

He kisses me again, hard, taking me close and grabbing my butt in his hands. That used to drive me crazy, the sensation of it still does. He kisses me again, tilting his head and biting down my bottom lip, mumbling, "just kiss me." To be kind, and non-confrontational, I kiss back, gently. He grasps my cheek with his hand, pulling at my lips with his thumb and I know what he wants. Trying to get this over with, I open my mouth and his tongue snakes in. This used to make me giggle, feel hot and bothered, but now it's just rhythmic. He lets me feel how hard he is by pushing closer, Sam takes my hand and moves it down his abs, pressing my fingers over his erection. He kisses me just beneath my ear and breaths: "Baby, come on."

I touch Sam, hoping after this he'll be sleepy and uncaring if I follow him back up the stairs, which sometimes works. I rub him through his pajamas and he sighs happily. He kisses me again, flicking at my not moving tongue, which then has to move to not seem bored. He begins to unbutton his shirt off of me and grins sloppily as he notices I'm not wearing a bra, as if that's for him. He pushes us against the cabinets, dipping his fingers in my underwear to touch me, "you're warm," he says, as if I'm supposed to be cold down there.

I can't even hope to be on my period. He'd just lick me down, and with a bloody smile at the end of it say, "_periods don't stop nothin' but a sentence, bab_y." That used to make me shiver with pleasure, because any guy can swim through the red sea, but it takes a certain kind of man to taste it. It stopped making me shiver so hard around year three.

My body forces me to groan, making me hot as I lean into his touch, because it does feel good. His name tumbles out my mouth accidentally, "_Sam_," which makes his lopsided smile, even wider. He touches me harder and I grab his arm, but it's not because I want him to stop. He slips a finger in, delighted to find me wet, and thrums up a deliriously nice beat, which makes me moan. I should be mad at myself, but I'm not. I'm enjoying this for what it's worth, because I had no idea how much I needed this. "Don't stop," I whisper, and he kisses me again, using his other hand to get me to free him from his pajamas and I do, rubbing down and up his long, thick length that surprised the hell out of me, until I got used to it. "Put it in your mouth, baby." He tells me, and it's not that he deserves it that I get down on my knees, but because I'm already in the moment, and the sooner he goes to bed, the better. So I take him in my mouth, making him groan loudly and grab the counter-tops.

"Mercedes, that's good," he sighs, gulping. "That's so good..."

I use both hands, watching his legs shake slightly. He puts his hand on my head, and I move faster, making him curse softly to the air. I replace him with my fingers down there, because I need pleasure, too. I don't mind him being in my mouth, and I nearly forget how upset I am with him. He pulls me to my feet a few minutes later and gets me on top of the counter, pulls down my underwear and a moment later fills me up, both of us groaning as he slides in. He breaths fast, "Mercedes, you're so tight."

I bit my bottom lip as he moves slowly at first, getting it all the way in, until our stomachs are close to touching, before moving back out, and slamming back in. I grab for his shirt, but he's not wearing one, and so I scratch his skin, throwing my arm around him as he moves faster, grabbing my hips and pounding hard and fast. The rhythm threatens to send me into wonderland right away, but I hold on, my moans exploding out of me louder than his are because he's also playing with my breasts. "Don't you like this, Mercedes?" He asks me.

I nod into his shoulder, upset every time he pulls away, but remembering why he does each time he plows back in a half a heartbeat later. He tells me, "then don't leave me."

"Stop it," I say, my mouth dry with need, "I already said I'm-ah!-not-ah!-leaving."

"Then stop making me worry," he whispers, grabbing up some of my hair and tilting my head back as he kissed my throat, down my neck, and my collarbone. He tells me a few minutes later, "I'm going to come in you."

"Do it," I accept, knowing I'm on the pill regularly. I encourage him, "come in me, baby, come on, Sam," I say, reaching my climax too. "Come on, baby, come."

He's grabbing onto my hips really hard, pushing even harder, and a moment later I can't take it and I'm coming, my legs trembling as he keeps going and I touch cloud nine, swimming on its billowy surface, just before he meets me there, letting himself come along the way. I feel Sam's juices leap inside of me, shooting five times, before slowing down to a stop as he did. My thighs are slippery when he's done, and he stays in for a few moments, both of us trying to catch our breath when only one of us did work.

He kisses the bottom of my cheek, close to the edge of my jaw, and pulls out. The sensation sends a ripple of leftover pleasure in me and despite myself, I smile. I expect him to ruin the moment by saying 'let's go to bed' but he doesn't, instead, Sam helps me down.

"How long are you planning on staying up?"

"No more than two episodes, probably one," I say to him, wiping myself up with a paper towel.

"Okay," he says, "I'll take a really long shower and read a book, then."

I don't bother telling him not to stay up for me, so I kiss him instead. "Okay." Knowing I have exactly 47 minutes, two episodes, to watch _Friends_.

When he disappeared around the corner, I breathed, and all it took was some sex. Then, why did it feel so hard? Why did I still feel like climbing out of the window and running through the streets with his shirt down my elbows with my hands on my knees, and hunch over for breath?

A/N: Hope you guys like it! It was pretty fun to write, and I am procrastinating HARD throughout finals! Hope the sex scene also wasn't too explicit for you guys.

_-YourNewFriend_


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